


Another World

by PetitAmour



Category: The Dark Crystal (1982), The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance (TV)
Genre: F/M, Female Reader, If I add more chapters I will most likely add more readers, Interspecies Relationship(s), Interspecies Sex, PREVIOUSLY TITLED "WONDERLAND", Rough Sex, Skekmal shows you a bit of tenderness but is still feral, Unbeta'd, We are human; We are strong; We sure as hell will put Skeksis in their place
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-09
Updated: 2020-03-26
Packaged: 2021-01-26 02:22:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21366595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetitAmour/pseuds/PetitAmour
Summary: You're human, attractive to all, and will take no shit from any creature of Thra.
Relationships: skekMal (Dark Crystal)/Reader, skekSa/reader, urSol/reader, urVa/Reader, urZah/reader
Comments: 14
Kudos: 117





	1. The Tamer: skekMal

When you landed on Thra it was the most terrifying and confusing time of your life. One moment you were on Earth, the next you were on a whole other planet, possibly a whole other  _ dimension _ . What happened afterwards was a blur that even now you can scarcely remember, which does not help you in the current situation. How you, months later, ended up laying on your back upon a thick hide, with Skekmal, The Hunter, towering over you, is an utter mystery. Perhaps because of the whole adventure, perhaps because he’s fucking you senseless, either way everything is just an utter mess, and not one you honestly mind. It’s a good bout of rutting to be fair, and definitely not the first (or last) so far. You have obviously cracked his hardened heart -- shockingly Skeksis have one! -- to a certain degree, because if you were anyone else he would have never put down one of his thick coats to protect your body. Neither would he be gazing towards you with an odd expression behind his mask -- eyes glazed over and soft. His green eyes are so striking, boring into your very soul, it creates a tight feeling in your chest. A feeling you know is dangerous despite how tender he has been to you so far; he cares for the hunt, and only the hunt, not some odd creature like yourself. You are merely a hunting companion and a nice fresh fuck in a land filled with Gelfling and Skeksis (the only other species in Thra he’d relieve his lust with).

You are hardly taller than a Gelfling, perhaps a foot or two so, yet you are broader, with strength that promises far more potential than a Gelfling’s as well. These are differences Skekmal cares little for, if he ever did in the first place. As he steadily thrusts into you, back erect and one hand digging into your bare hip, his other hand and eyes are elsewhere. Pulling your shirt up and over your prominent breasts that bounce with ever pull and push into your loud cunt. It's actually comical how he eyes your chest, especially when he licks his beak. That ceases to be funny when he growls, the deep vibrations hitting straight into your core. The guttural sound of a predator.

“Such a nice pair, never seen’em so soft, yet firm.” He reached his hand down to engulf one, squeezing your nipple between index and middle claw. The pert, puffy nub is sensitive, sending a shocking tingle that shoots between your thighs.

You’re weak to the touch, past the limit that would usually keep you level-headed. By now you are as wild as he with pleasure clouding your mind. A whimper escapes your lips, plump and red from his attempts at kissing you -- or what could be close to a kiss, but honestly it was more like him shoving his tongue down your throat. Your eyes won't stay open, struggling to even stay hooded while your eyes wander away from him and to the clouds above. He doesn’t like that, giving a particularly cruel pounding into you and staying hilt deep. Your back arches up like a tight bow, and your toes curl into the fabric. A sob shakes your entire body, because it feels so damn good, you clench all around.

“Look at Skekmal when he fucks you!” He roars for the whole forest to hear. 

He rolls his hips as if to dive deeper into you, and it succeeds in hitting your sweet spot. All you can do is choke on a needy cry, your thighs instinctively going to squeeze shut; as if  _ that _ will do anything. 

Skekmal’s claws are on your inner thighs in an instant, spreading you wide -- wider than you were a moment ago -- to the point of knees hitting the ends of your bedding and touching the dirt around you. Leaning over his haunches, Skekmal’s body covers yours and his hot breath is fanning over your lips. Not a smell you are keen to as your head turns away, but a hand snaps to squeeze your cheeks and turn you face back towards him. 

“What did I say?!” he hits a lower octave that sends a shiver of terror down your spine. 

“L...l - oo - oo - k a - a - aahnn -- guh!” You choke once more, failing to speak when he starts to give little, curt pumps into your tight hole. It is with the slightest of pulls that The Hunter continues to strike you where it matters the most -- sending sparks of white over you sight. 

“Keep. Going.” He demands.

You stare into his green eyes and somehow…”Look...look...a - at...yo -- ...you…” And you go limp in his hold.

There are so many sharp, jagged teeth in his mouth, they hypnotize you when Skekmal grins crookedly. “Good little human -- so tight, so wet. Wet.  ** _Wet_ ** _ . _ ” 

He chants with every thrust, now releasing more of his heavy cock from you each time. It’s true, you’re soaked, glistening all over your mound, sheathing his erection in a warm coat of it. It squeezes out with every push in, and becomes a gooey mess with every pull out. The sound is no better, echoing amongst the trees and bushes around your little camp; and maybe this is another addition to things he would not do for any other fuck, but The Hunter knows how to treat your pussy just right after all your times together. 

His claws on your cheeks loosen, sliding under your chin and slipping a sharp thumb between your parted lips. You welcome it, sticking your tongue out to press flat against the pad of his digit. Lazily you lick, catch it between your blunt teeth, suck on it, but it does nothing to hurt Skekmal, only drive him further at the lascivious motions. He rubs his finger all over your tongue, reaching down further to gag you for a moment. He stops though, deciding to play with your tongue, twirling it around his claw; there are better, thicker parts of him you can gag on later.

You continue to bounce on his cock, and he continues to eye your dark, flushed, puffy nipples long into the night. And after what feels like endless orgasms for you, but one, long, pump for him, you can finally rest. His weight on you is comforting, truly a security blanket that protects you from any creature who would never dare to hurt the hunter, or you for that matter: The Hunter’s dearest human.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To honest, I'm just a thot, but not an unkind one. May write more for different ships of Skeksis, Mystics, reader, mystics & Skeksis, and reader caught in the middle.  
please dont forget to kudos and comment too.


	2. The Tamer: urVa

You want to say it's funny how things change in mere minutes, but that seems cruel. If anything, it was a few hours, and who could blame you? Months may have passed since being found in the forests of Thra, yet that did not mean you were completely used to the alien planet...dimension -- whatever and wherever it was. What you did know was only a chunk of what was yet to come. The small creatures you knew were twice as strong against the bigger ones, and the latter creatures able to swallow you whole like an appetizer, while even  _ larger  _ beasts lurked in the Dark Wood. All this you learned from skekMal on your hunts as his assistant (that's what you called the occupation, but the Skeksis preferred ‘pack mule, and that was only after you threatened him to quit calling you ‘slave’). Side by side to skekMal, you are somewhere around a head or two shorter, not necessarily the strongest, while compared to the Gelfling you were a brute with two heads of height over them. Add in the overwhelming anger of being lost in a different world with no one and only the clothes on your back that grew and festered over time...well ...skeMal will never underestimate your strength again after the explosion that was your breakdown. All of this is mere pebbles of what Thra has instore for you.

So when The Hunter decided to check in with the castle, leave a gift to butter-up The Emperor so he felt like he was top dog, nothing could prepare you. A selfish, pompous Skeksis at his core, your companion had you enter a Gelfling village to buy a custom tailored outfit, bathe before putting it on, then told you one simple rule:  _ “Don’t leave skekMal’s side.”  _ And you knew better than to defy him. You could honestly hold him off, not physically obviously (his angry tantrums were as scary as yours had been), but rather by putting up with his incessant yelling and verbal barrage. He’d  _ never  _ put a hand on you now a days, he valued your attractiveness, only scarring your skin with claiming bites and scratches. You were  _ his _ and skekMal took good care of what little effects he kept. You want to say it's also because you mean something to him, that he enjoys you for more than your body, even cares for you tenderly like a proper lover ...but that's wishful thinking. That's just you being human.

Thus you obeyed in a way that made you feel like a meek intern being lead around the office. Tall, blindingly shiny, filled with Gelfling dressed in fancy armor and podlings pulling along carts of odd items, The Crystal Palace was a sight to see. A sacred landmark, you learned, from what few Gelfling you talked to. 

skekMal had taken off his mask, redressing in the woods surrounding the palace into nice robes. He looked so different, like a stuffy nobleman, or maybe religious figure. His eponymous black, white, and red colors stayed, the very same you matched him in.

You thought he looked absolutely ridiculous, but you did not voice it.

Your awe quickly turned to discomfort. If you had felt like a lost child before, being in the castle, meeting the other Skeksis, made it feel three-times worse. You had been fortunate enough to be found by skekMal, because the rest were obviously victims to gluttony and vanity. At one point in life (as joked about by your partner) they were all fit warriors who lusted after blood instead of power. The amiable facade they showed the Gelfling trines ago had not been as loud as now -- they had never depended on them except for weapons and keeping the land flourishing with good soil for food and open lands for hunting. Now the Skeksis were far too deep into the political matters of the wide-eyed Gelflings, twisting them around their talons far too tightly. 

skekMal’s open contempt went ignored, leaving you the only one to suffer. It radiated off him like poison, and being seated at his side gave you a front row seat to absorb his mood; empathy, another human trait the Skeksis seemed to lack. It had not helped the others were not in favor of you being at their table, relenting out of fear for skekMal’s growls and glares. You would not have minded a cold-shoulder -- you actually would have  _ preferred _ it -- considering the way each of them whined, yet you realized these creatures were skilled performers. After looking over the table as one did amongst a party where you knew no one or cared to be at (distant eyes, zoned out mind), you realized each one of them was sending a gaze towards you. Out of the corners of their sharp eyes, you found a glaring shine of interest. Cruel observations up and down your entire body, sizing you up. Deep desire for a new delicacy in their den. They didn’t you  _ there _ , they all wanted you within their grasps --  _ alone _ , vulnerable, prey under their claws. Your eyes never left your lap. Occasionally your sight lingered to skekMal’s hand, twitching and clenching for reasons you could not decipher, and you were tempted to grab it for comfort. You never did though, fearing he may become embarrassed and anger at your weakness and attachment to him.

All at once the castle with its towering ceiling and glittering walls were no longer alluring. You were trapped in the lion's den -- or better yet vulture’s nest -- stuffy with strong perfumes, blinding with glaring gemstones, loud with the disgusting cacophony of clacking beaks and shrill laughter. How the guards and caterers persevered, you envied it, because you were only a few hours into the fray and there was still night and morning to go.

So you see, no one could blame you for leaving the castle at sunset. You needed fresh air, sweet silence, and natural colors Thra provided. A simple walk around the nearby woods, and if you were not allowed to do so, then surely the guards would have stopped you...if they had seen you, anyways. You didn't want to risk them tattling on you and giving skekMal reason to lock you up in his chambers, so you kept to the shadows (like Mal had taught you -- he’d be so proud), and jogged down the bridge until your feet hit the dirt. How could you have known you’d meet  _ him _ . A creature hidden by the trees and growing darkness. For a second you thought he looked like skekMal and gasped in fear. Then you could have sworn it definitely WAS skekMal, because only he could make your heart do backflips like that. Yet, when the being spoke, his voice was a deeper octave, and his manner soft. The opposite of what The Hunter was. 

Who could have blamed you for leaving with urVa? He was so kind and caring, asking if you were hurt. His eyes were gentle, truly gazing upon you with concern. And his touch, warm and benevolent as he caressed large fingertips over your cheek, noting a knick you had obtained days before on one of your hunts. His touch had not stopped there, continuing under your jaw and ghosting down your neck -- hesitating at skekMal’s favorite spot to leave marks at. He had even  _ apologized,  _ knowing he had gone too far, but you couldn’t have cared less. He was everything the Skekis were not. The opposite of how skekMal was. What you  _ needed  _ as an alien in another world. The moment he asked (how fucken refreshing) if you wished to leave with him, you did not hesitate to agree.

You tore off your fancy clothes the Gelflings made you to match skekMal’s colors, and threw them into the river. With only your old clothes (from home, which you ritually washed), and what else you had fortunately placed in your pockets back then now safe in a pack you owned, you gave single look back to the Crystal Palace, and stuck your tongue out at it.

You’re traveling partner changed from the icy hunter, to the warm archer. A Mystic, or Urru as he explained, who liked to travel. He kept tabs on what went on around the Dark Wood and Crystal Palace, wary of the many facades put on by the Skeksis. He protected the good people of Thra, but in the shadows, for his kind did not care for eyes on them. One of the few who found the need to travel beyond their safe hidden valley, urVa could not find serenity knowing of the evil poisoning Thra. A poison you honestly never knew was caused by the Skeksis -- by skekMal. Firsthand you knew The Hunter was a bastard, killing for glee and not sport as he proclaimed; kicking the kind Podling and Gelfling down to the point of abuse; entitled to whatever he set his sights on. But now you knew the truth. urVa didn’t wish to tell you what he did, but you demanded it all, it was only fair.

skekMal killed Gelfling and Podling alike for fun. He had done it even when traveling with you, going behind your back at night as you slept soundly in his furs. His kind had enslaved the inhabitants of Thra, held them under their little claws with lies and political brilliance. They were why the Gelfling were so divided. They were possibly why you were there, one of their experiments with The Crystal gone wrong and teleporting you to this world somehow.

You cried hard over these truths, but did not regret knowing them. skekMal had put on a good ass performance with you, because as much as you tried to deny it, you had come to like him after finally earning  _ some  _ respect from him.

“You tamed him.” urVa claimed.

“I doubt that -- the guy’s far too feral.” You rebuked; he talked erratically, with third-person habits and delighted growls like a childish beast; he ate his food raw, like a wild animal tearing into flesh and drinking the marrow of bones; and if he didn’t get his way, he threw the  _ THE MOST  _ annoying tantrums that ended with even more bloodshed. You kept the small tender moments you two shared from the Mystic, finding they did not matter compared to what urVa now gave you, or to what skekMal did in the shadows.

“He cares for you...but he’d never admit.”

“The only thing his royal dickness cares for is the hunt and the trophies they bring.” You snarled, and then quickly apologized. He had rubbed off on you, literally and figuratively. 

In a way, urVa reminded you of skekMal. He too talked with third-person tendencies mixed in his speech, and his skills with a bow were graceful as the Skeksis with his blades. You had mistaken the Mystic for him even, in body and what you could only describe as aura (ridiculous, you know, but Thra was weird like that). The differences were clear as night and day though: urVa did not hunt, but defended, he was patient and understanding, and because of that you never feared upsetting him. The Archer never demanded anything from you, he always asked, and always respected your boundaries and incapabilities. When you pushed yourself to match his stamina, he stopped for a break, or even the day. When you were hungry, he cooked you food -- thoroughly too. And (though skekMal did the same out of what you felt was annoyance) when you were cold at night, urVa would drape you with one of his robes, and tucked you in snugly -- unlike Mal who would simply throw his thick cloak over you and be done with it. Such kindness you found was lacking even in your life on Earth. 

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned to months, until, after two of the latter, you found yourself falling into a similar situation with urVa. You did not go unaffected by his tender ways. A being filled with riddles that had you huffing, he nonetheless was a treat to travel and live with. He taught you far more than skekMal did, about the land you walked, about the history of it’s creatures.When you were not in his little hut in the Dark Wood, the two of you were on the move, assisting what little or big creature wanted it. 

You were taught how a bow worked, but failed to use one, for his was too big, and the Gelfling’s too small.

Boldly you asked him to keep close to you on the cold nights, despite being snug in his robe, and he politely obliged, laying beside you in the beginning, then soon keeping you safe in the middle of his curled body. His frame was firm, muscle hidden under all that thick abundance of flesh. He was warm to the touch, a personal heater under the Three Sisters’. And his hair you envied, silky as your finger ran through it. You would fix his funny little top-knot some mornings, combing through his long locks and carefully bringing a good chunk of the top-half up. He enjoyed it too, because he would hum while you were at work, pressing into your touch.

His hands soon were not hesitant to touch you, having assured him you did not mind. You trusted him to not do anything suspicious, unlike skekMal who would press his claws into your hips and drag you down below him; albeit you loved a good rut with him, actually trusting the horny bastard to obey your rebuffs in what he did to you, the caresses from urVa were...different.

Everything just felt so much nicer, and you felt at one with the new world for once. No longer did you feel alone or lost, not when urVa was beside you, holding your hand and guiding you towards unity with Thra’s song.

Like with The Hunter, you wedged yourself into The Archer’s heart, melting and blending into its shape -- into his strong arms. Taking it and holding it within your hands.

You could definitely blame yourself now for where you currently laid: atop urVa, The Archer, enjoying everything  _ he  _ had to offer. Now  _ this  _ was comical, because somehow you had become a sort of irresistible treat to two of the oldest creatures on Thra, and now have been with what very well may be the strongest of their numbers. 

Unlike skekMal who did not care if you liked laying on the floor, only that he was on top, urVa  _ did _ , and was content with laying on his back so would feel safe. You worried he would be uncomfortable, but he said nothing of the scenario, and there was comfort to be had on the piles of furs in his hut. How nice it was to have privacy, no dark eyes lurking around the trees, or the possibility of a Gelfling traveling far from their villages just to find you being had. Just you, urVa, and the fire crackling nearby as you pulled off the leathers you now wore, and he did likewise for his own garments. In tandem you both had lifted and shifted until there was no barriers between your bodies. You were reminded of how rugged his flesh was, like the outfit you had been wearing moments ago. Each little swirl and grain into him mesmerized you, falling into the temptation of tracing their patterns; like a tree, you mused with a smile. He allowed you, patient and happy to watch you enjoy yourself. You were grateful, because in that moment you felt like you were back home, and there was no evil in the world, and it did not matter that you were about to be with someone not human. 

Four hands were far better than two, especially when  _ both  _ sets  _ worked _ ; despite skekMal’s ability to use his second pair as he could his primary, they were so ill positioned, there was little use for them when you fucked. Two hands were always at your lower half, holding you waist, dipping between your thighs, while the other two busied themselves with your upper half, rolling your pert nipples, kneading into your shoulders in a pleasant massage. And when they weren’t roaming over your warming, flushing skin, they were leaving crescent marks with their blunt nails, and you would hiss, but the pain was nothing compared to the thrill it sent down your spine. It escaped you that for every touch he laid, there was a mark left behind. 

So now you were there, similar situation, different person, and somehow content. You were anxious to slip every inch of him in you, and he saw, rubbing soothing circles on your inner thighs -- causing ripples of pleasure to roam through your cunt, but give little relief to the desire burning inside you.

“Take your time…”

But that was not it, instead you worried at the possibility of toppling over with every rise of your thrusting. Chuckling, urVa’s solution was hanging on to you, doing the heavy lifting so not only were you kept seated, but also able to keep up with his stamina. You bounce, slow and steady each time, then lose yourself within minutes. Each strike into your core sends electric ecstasy down your veins. With an urgent roll of your hips, you sob for more.

“Faster, faster, faster,  _ please. _ ” And he does as you ask, causing your head to fall back with even more sobs. Your hair becomes wild, your toes curl, and your hands dig as deep they can into the wrists at your hips; maybe your own nails would leave marks to offset the long patterns already engraved in his flesh.

Your overwhelmed, but that's not new, however, this time it's far more fulfilling. It’s not a simple fuck, it’s tender and loving -- it’s  _ lovemaking _ . And you feel like you have before with your Skeksis partner, except you  _ know _ here that your partner cares. His eyes are focused on your face, watching as you gasp with every fall on his heavy cock. One of his upper hands hold your cheek in his large palm, and you press into it as though it could contain taut tension in your body. Your eyes meet his, watching him as he grins. It’s intense, and your thighs clench against the tight ache between them. 

You begin to giggle, feeling it teeter slowly into laughter that shakes your shoulders. 

urVa sets his thumb against your lips, brushing the wide pad over them. “What...is it?” And you know his words are slow because of his pounding into your sweet spot. 

You shake your head; you feel so ridiculous. “...It...It feels...so ...good,” you choke out. 

In the next moment both of you laugh despite how breathless your becoming. His hands on your waist take action, reaching a thumb to press under the hood of you mound and against your clit. He rolls it, your knees twitching to raise as if they can keep him away from your sensitive little nub. Your whole body rolls with the sensation, clenching around his length piercing you like the most skilled blade in all of Thra. And it doesn’t stop there, because his other set of hands fall from your top half and behind your back on either side. Large like every other part of him, he lays his wide palms on your ass and squeeze. They’ve engulfed so much of you, you feel his fingers near the backside of your spread slit -- lips puffy and flushed pink from the abuse his cock is putting them through. 

You thank not only Thra, but the stars above for such an endowed being --  _ all _ of them. You’ve reached a record amount of body wrenching orgasms in your time here, and urVa only adds more to those numbers. You drench his cock and then some of the area around it, because his thumb on your clit extracts a lot more than just your simple releases, which he learns fast of. A tug up at the right moment and your gushing, letting the climax wash over you like a wave. Just like with skekMal, it’s with one long, all engulfing pump that it all ends. He grunts, and his voice is so deep, the vibrations from it echoes down him and up into you, bringing on your final orgasm from the sensation, leaving you a twitching mess.

Your lifted off his spent cock, but not moved from him. Instead his hands rub all over you, pressing into your tired muscles, up and down your back rising harder the normal with each breath, easing your spasming body into a relaxed state. The mystic brushes the hair from your sweaty face, curling long fingers around the cheek and jaw, caressing your face. You sigh blissfully, safe within The Archer’s arms -- curled atop urVa’s body.


	3. The Maestro: urSol

It had been urSol who found you lost in the woods, and that was no shocker since  _ he  _ was the reason you had ended up there in the first place. You remember walking, and the skies above were blue. A few birds tweeting a gentle tune that caught your ear. One in particular stood out, having gone ignored for quite some time. It was constant, popping up to your left, then to your right, as though the song bird were fluttering from one place to another. Then you began to worry, because suddenly it was a ringing in your ears, resting on one annoying note that echoed in your head. Maybe the tune had always been that, a ringing you thought nothing of because of how deep you shoved earbuds in and how loud you usually blared the music. A typical occurrence, yet you were acutely aware of it this time. So when the single sound began to pierce, it felt as though a shapeless blade was running through your head. It had stung, irritated you to no end, but nothing you did could stop it.

The last thing you remembered was that you weren’t  _ _ the one moving your legs -- they had begun going on without your say. Then came the voice, morphing out from the ringing until you realized someone was singing. Finally you opened your eyes, and this sure as hell was not home. The song was still there though, and unable to resist, you began to walk towards it for what you realized was a second time now. It was the source of your moving body, this time different now that it’s enchantment reached your entire being rather than your….well, you can’t really say what urSol’s song touched when you initially heard it, because that's just how weird Thra was. Your being? Your soul? Whatever the case, it was  _ his _ fault you were there, thus it went without saying he took responsibility. 

That afternoon you met The Chanter, lounging by a brook where the water was relaxed, going along its merry way over stones. The babbling mixed with his song perfectly, or perhaps his song mixed with the babbling, and you swear you saw the stones  _ moving _ , or perhaps it was just the sun glistening off their wet, grey color. 

When your heavy footstep cracked a twig, his song stopped, but not abruptly. He brought the song to a halt by letting the last note fade away, and yet it sounded like it also embedded itself into the trees and stones. There was no more glistening and the water was silent. Without the song lulling your senses, it became apparent you not where you were a few minutes ago, and the creature before you was something entirely else. Laying there was a long being, with a shaggy mane of dark golden hair around their broad shoulders, and a neat little bun on top. When their head turned over their shoulder, you saw their face was long and protruding, like some sort of lizard-horse mix. The most bizarre (somehow) was when they began to stand, hair falling away as  _ four  _ arms pushed them up from where they laid on their side. 

“Don’t be afraid.” His voice called to you, settling once more in your ears like a long pull of a violin. 

And your fear calmed, though not enough to be gone. He looked you up and down, leaving both of you with a simple question crawled over your faces:  _ what are you? _

That was how you met urSol, a Mystic (because his kind were quite mystical) who had powers in his voice. They all did, but his held powers that could rival their master’s. Kind and understanding of your situation -- extremely apologetic for having caused the mess -- Sol took you in as his sole charge, promising to figure out a way to send you back. That felt like so long ago, and yet, not really -- perhaps a few months at best from what urYod tried to inform you, but sometimes he would go on for ages about one date or another with terms you still had not fully grasped. A general span of time was enough for you anyways. The more you thought of how long you were away from home, the sharper it stung. 

As his responsibility, urSol welcomed you to his home: a small hut built under a literal hole in the mountains. All their homes were like this, either just outside the mountain, or deep in it’s labyrinth of paths -- you are grateful urSol’s home was not like that the latter. In his home laid many heavy, warm quilts urUtt provided, laying against one wall were a few instruments, and above those was a shelf with four books -- two being filled with songs and a few sketches he shared with you, while the others he gave no indication to, leaving you to assume they were off-limits. Scattered all over were sheets of  _ more  _ songs, poems, funny little doodles, and notes to remind him of things, not only on the floor, but sticking to the walls as well. An organized chaos, it made the place all the more homey after you were accustomed to it.

It was that first night that you decided sleeping on the floor was not the best for you, and a few days later of not telling him until you could not take it any longer, Sol introduced you to urUtt. He encouraged you to use your own voice and ask The Weaver for cushions to make sleeping comfortable, and when you did, both Mystics smiled. You were gifted quite a lot of cushions three days later -- urUtt a master at getting his work done -- and they were  _ very _ comfy. Not too soft, but just firm enough that they supported your back and head. The feathers within were collected from the wildlife, long deceased creatures who had returned to Thra, they would no longer need their feathers, and soon their bodies would be taken for food by other creatures, then fertilize the soil.

Now, months later, you are glad to have asked for these items, because laying with urSol was all the better. You had never expected to share a bed with the mystic, especially not so intimately. Laying on your side, you pressed into his body, secure with four arms wrapped around your back. You buried your face into the crooks of his long neck, into his sturdy shoulder until the swirling symbols on his skin etched into your own cheeks. Your upper leg was held up by his tail, hooked over his hip as best it could to keep yourself open to him. It was cozy, and the most relaxing you have ever been while having a go at it, though that was not the best way to describe what this was. Maybe making love? Yeah, that sounded far better.

In a funnier way, you openly chuckled and told him a human Earth expression. “Making sweet music, some would say.”

And you felt the laughter rumble through him and into you, a hot flash erupting little bumps across your flesh. The part of him deep within you followed the motion, giving a small jostle against you walls, eliciting a squeeze of your thighs as a sharp tingle curled in your core. Already a pot ready to bubble over, your release was ready to flow out of you, and not for the first time that afternoon. 

“With the way  _ I  _ make you sing, there is truth in that.”

You roll your eyes and huff through the face-splitting grin that breaks out. You know he feels it against his hard skin. One of his hands begins to move, a single, square-shaped tip whispering down your spine. Your entire body shivers, and your hips absently jolt forward, rolling over the hard shape pressing into you. He hums, melodious as though you have inspired a new song in him. There is a bewitching essence in his voice, whether he meant for it or not, and another wave of hot tingles makes your body restless. Once more you jolt forward, but this time with a squirm, trying to somehow delve deeper into his body. It's more than what has been happening for the past few minutes, or perhaps hour, because just being melded into one shape under the quilts was enough to make both of you happy. You can’t stop yourself from continuing your movements now, having had a taste of penetration after so long of gentle cuddling. There had been some before you both had gone still, and now there is some again, which your partner does not deny you. His hand that trails up and down your back stops at your bottom, cupping it’s size with ease in his large, rugged palm, and he helps you pull off him, then back down. 

He was right when he said he could make you sing, not just in the nice way he teaches you, or you both do idly in companionship, but in ecstasy. Long, slow, thrusts pulling not only pleasure in and out of your core, but whimpers from your throat. Both your hands find purchase on his wide body: one over his lower shoulder, digging into his back, and the other curled under his upper-primary arm, creating weak crescents into his shoulder. Its inexplicably hot, heat boiling under the quilt, sweat building on your brow and sticking your bodies together. It’s with glee you giggle at his words.

“Louder...Sing louder.”

And the pace picks up, no longer aiming for long strokes, but rather short ones that hit your core faster. You don’t want to hold back, but it's embarrassing to say the least: there’s a horribly loud echo within the caves --  _ around The Valley. _ If you were to raise your voice, no doubt someone may hear. It is apparent there is little modesty among the Mystics, open with their bodies, minds, and voices, but there have been little to no instances where  _ you  _ witnessed anything like what is happening now; at one point you swore a sweet moan had reaches your ears, but where it had come from was undecipherable. Seeing a robeless Mystic, that you could confirm, whether completely as they bathed under the sun or awaited clothing modification from urUtt, to just the top layers pulled back to relax or apply ointments of healing to sudden little wounds. They were not ashamed, but you on the other hand were, very much human and considerably bashful in these areas.

That did not stop urSol from leading you out of it, once again encouraging you to be as free and confident as you could. You did not push away from his attempts, only putting up a small battle that, perhaps, was only in hopes he would try even harder. You could not remember a time you regretted finally taking those leaps with him, yet you still needed a helping hand. Such was now, rocking on the arousal filling you to the brim. Each thrust hits you  _ hard _ , and the two hands that are not causing it are light, scratching around your torso and hips to bring more little shivers over you. The Chanter wanted  _ you _ to sing, but he himself is doing most of it, as though to seduce your own voice in joining his in a maddening duet of lust. 

At last you do, lifting your head from his neck, squeezing your eye shut -- causing your cheeks to further turn scarlet. He bends his own head down, pressing at your throat and under your jaw to keep you from hiding once more. Your voice trembles, it groans and moans from deep within your chest, then reaches a pitch as it becomes a shaky sob. There’s no control in it, coupling with urSol’s like the wind swirling around all of Thra. You blindly sing him praise, begging him to keep going, to hold you tighter, because it feels like at any moment you may fly away like the notes falling from your lips. There is no doubt in your mind -- or what is left of it to think properly -- that someone out there can hear the both of you, but that matters little when your orgasm bubbles over, spilling all over The Chanter’s pumping erection. He rides it out, causing a crescendo to spark the little hairs all over you, and his own climax reaches its peak, falling over you -- well, in you anyways. You can’t help the funny little thoughts overcoming your dizzy mind, grinning while your brow presses to his, his pants mixing your own as you both try to breathe evenly once more.

You are quite literally  _ filled _ with sweet music.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Understandably the feminine form of maestro is 'maestra', but for the purpose of not caring for language rules, and also not caring for gender restrictions, the reader (YOU) can be called Maestro, and lead your orchestra of love and tenderness as you feel fit.
> 
> Grab that conducting baton and Mystic/skekSis ass and wave away!


	4. The Maiden: skekSa

On land you wait for the ship to dock, watching as the sails whip in the heavy wind and it’s hull rides each wave. You had heard the shout of cheer clear as day through all the fircas playing and fires crackling. Every head turning towards the call, shining, almond shaped eyes widening. You were the first to drop what you were doing and run towards the docks, leading those who desired to see the incoming sailors. Gasps echoed, whispers rising to your ears a head above them all, but you stood silent. One ship in particular caught your eyes, larger than the rest and flying the biggest flag of the Sifa emblem. It is there that the Skeksis you care for captains the small fleet, away from the open sea of adventure and back to the warm sands of home. 

“Who’s that?” A gelfling questions, recognizable as someone new to the Silver Sea coastline.

“That’s the captain’s beloved, don’t you see the color on her?”

Yes, you are  _ THE  _ captain’s lover. Adorned on your clothes are vibrant reds and hues of blue and purple that blend so well. You were at first indifferent to the color choices, but the moment you tried to wear something else, the Sifa looked offended. You thought the offense came from their pride in tailoring the clothes for you, but that was far from it.

_ “She specifically chose these for you.” _

_ “skekSa? I know, but I kinda wanna try on some other styles and colors.” _

And that seemed to add extra oil to the fire.  _ “To wear her colors is an honor! A statement of your affection towards one another anyone would envy.” _

That had been news to you at the time. She could have at least told you that herself, and you had her do so when she was back the next day. You’re mind fancied it close to a ring, a claim that would ward of any wandering eyes (many of which you did see turned on you even now). Now you knew, now you gladly wore The Mariner’s colors without question, because even though it was annoying to be thought of as someone else’s (claimed, marked), it felt good to belong. And if it was skekSa who you got to proclaim as your lover, then it was not all bad. You’d have to return the favor and give her a bit of you to wear out there on her adventures, not counting of course your scent that apparently all of damned Thra could smell. An odd world indeed.

The ship was still a little ways out there, prompting you to take the spyglass hanging on your belt and extending it out. Peering through, you saw all the little Gelfling running about the deck, climbing the masts, and preparing to finally dock. Up at the captain’s post you saw skekSa, one hand on the wheel while the other pointed out directions. For a moment you were lost, gazing over her beautiful blue feathers, their Ombré of purple and black blending seamlessly, then gasped. Dark, shining eyes pierced through the lense, causing you to jump and scramble to catch the spyglass. You had been caught, no doubt about it, leaving your face flushed. Quickly you put your tool away and raced off the docks towards the ship you claimed as your own. 

It was one of skekSa’s many gifts from the Sifa people, but not one she used much. There was only one grand ship she used when Vassa was resting, and currently it was about to dock. Instead, you called it your own, reasoning that it would be of better use to you as a place to stay when the larger hull was out on the seas; Vassa was never an option to you, who hated the smell of the creature's innards, but loved the creature itself. A medium-sized sailing vessel, a small party could be thrown on it with many bodies there to dance, and it’s cabin was large enough to not only fit you, but also the large skeksis you called lover. It is here you have a trunk full of lovely clothes varying from traveling leathers of trousers and tunics, to long flowing gowns to attend formal ceremonies in. Without delay you shed your trousers and shirt and pull out a long, white chemise. Slipping it on, you admire yourself in the mirror, fingertips following the low neckline. It’s simple, long sleeves that fall loose around your wrists, like a true maiden awaiting a lover from sea, causing you to snort. Ridiculous, you were a twenty-first century human of Earth, none of this was your typical attire or lifestyle, yet there you were. 

You had planned to put on your own stays -- having asked that they could be self-tied since you did not want anyone acting like your servant awaiting your beck and call -- but someone seemed impatient to see you. The door opened to reveal the only person who was allowed to enter without so much as a knock. With her breeches tucked into her heavy boots, and a simple white dress-shirt under her waistcoat and overcoat, skekSa shut the door silently behind herself. Her eyes once again pierced you, looking at your reflection, then roaming down you backside. A hot shiver ran over your skin, goosebumps lighting all over. You closed your eyes as the sensation caused you to tremble in the most delicious way.

“No wishing me welcome back?” Her deep, velvety voice filled the cabin. 

Fingertips drumming against your bare clavicle, you stared at her in the mirror. “If you would’ve been patient and waited, I would be there now in something nice.” 

Her boots stomp across the threshold, shaking the very floor you stand on and very likely the whole ship. Every step closer leaves your heart beating like mad against your chest, it is a wonder how the Skeksis doesn’t hear it pounding or see its pounding under your skin. You can’t stop staring at her beautiful feathers, hypnotic in their vibrancy. Despite seeing her do it, when heavy claws cover your shoulders you begin to blush. It is so easy for her to make your blood run hot, maybe because she handles you so gently when she can easily overpower you. You obviously mean something to her, and if her colors on you do not say it, then her careful touches do.

“No need for glittering yourself up, my love. I saw those trousers you were in when spying on me, those would have been enough.” Her hand lightly scratches down your back, first your bare shoulder blade, leaving a white trail, then over the thin fabric of your shift. Finally she reaches your behind and gave it a generous squeeze that you gasped at.

“They always give me a perfect view your tight little bottom.”

You tried, honestly you did, to glare, but it breaks into a grin and laughter a second later. “Stop that.”

But she doesn’t, and in the next moment her other arm is wrapped around your waist, sliding you back into her chest and cradling you close. With her beak and odd face it should not be easy to see an expression, yet her snickering and smile are easy to read. The glint in her eye is one you know well, even before the back of your chemise begins to be bunched up.

“Do you truly want me to stop? I will if you say it once more.” A chilled draft flows around the back of your knees.

“Keep going, and don’t stop.” Your voice is a whisper amongst the rolling waves and creaking ship. skekSa’s deep, silky chuckle presses against your ear, and your shoulders hunch and tremble one more. 

Her large hand moves under the white chemise, causing a long slit to hang where her arm extends. One large, clawed finger snakes between your thighs and presses against your covered slit. Slow and steady it moves back and forth over your shape, turning your legs weak with each press to your little bundle of nerves. Those dark eyes are still on you, gazing on your face for the smallest twitch of pleasure. You control yourself, lifting your chin in a defiant gesture, but that only makes her grin. 

“How strong you are, my little human.” 

“Aren’t you tired from your sailing -- let’s not play games.” You can’t stop the shaky breath escaping your throat when you feel another finger slip in with the other, bending to hook under the fabric of your undergarments on her talon. The flimsy cloth moves, revealing your sex for her first finger to softly split over the digit. A dangerous act, you must stay still as you can, and skekSa must pay attention, less you be cut. Knowing your weaknesses like she does the sea, The Mariner focuses on you clit, rolling it back and forth on the pad of her finger’s tip. You double over, taking in a sharp breath and bringing your knees together -- trapping her hand. 

“Games, games, games, are we in no mood for them?” Her voice is musical against your ear once more,

It’s hot in the cabin, against her body, where lightning fast shocks of pleasure shoots up and down your veins. A tightness begins to coil in your abdomen, between your thighs, deep in you hole, stinging you like what you imagine the sharpest blade would. You give your lover all your weight, ready to fall to your knees as she teases your sensitive nub. You can’t find the confidence to look at yourself in the mirror, instead you look towards your feet, curling around each toe over one another and rocking on your soles. That doesn’t agree with skekSa, so she moves her arm across your torso and takes your chin between her sharp nails, forcing your eyes to lift. There you see your red face, lips parted into a small ‘o’, hair sticking to your dampening crown; and behind you, hunched over so you are both bent so you can feel the dual erections against your ass, with a wild grin plastered over her sharp face, is skekSa, The Mariner, patron of the Sifa clan, reveling in your dizzying state. 

Your eyes flutter shut, and your flushed lips ground out your next words. “No, I’m not -- enough of this. “ You twist your palm to push the larger body away, and tug out of her grasp despite your knees feeling like jelly. You have to use the arm that was across your chest for support, turning around to face her. 

With brows drawn together, you lift your chin again, nudging towards the back wall. “Take me to that bed and fuck me. -- AH!”

You yelp, hoisted up over skekSa’s shoulder the instant you were done speaking. You failed to see her face then, but now as your dropped onto the bed with a bounce, you see a shadow has fallen over her own brow.

“As you wish, my love.” 

As she throws her overcoat and the epaulet adorning her shoulder to the floor, you waste no time reaching over and taking the tricorn hat with it’s long plume from her head. Once it is on your own, you lay back down with a smirk.

So sudden was it, skekSa takes a moment to look at her hat, then you, before raising a brow in amusement. “You look marvelous.”

“Thank you --”

“But you would like twice as much with your legs spread open.”

And it feels like a blur as she grabs the bottom of your chemise and pulls it up -- needing you to lift your thighs for a second to let the garment bunch under your chest. No time is wasted, her sharp claws splitting the hem of your underwear in half so she can yank them from below you. Her hands are warm under your knees, effortlessly lifting and spreading them -- not enough to open you for her hips, but for her head to bow between them. Long and horribly slimey is the tongue dipping between your folds, from its bottom, up to the hood hiding your clit. The hardness of her beak is odd amidst your thighs, spreading your labia open for her tongue to ravage with long, drawn licks. You mewl, muscles twitching so hard you begin to squirm. You fight against her hands, legs begging to squeeze shut, but she does not relent. Each stroke is pure ecstasy, pulling the rope that is your impending orgasm taunt. 

“It is a wonder how I can continue drinking my rum when I have your sweet nectar to lap up,” She breathes into your wet cunt, turning her eyes up towards you. “And why should I wear these dull gems when I have the most beautiful pearl right here?” 

With one last lick, her tongue swirls little circles over you clit -- one hand hooking under your leg and pressing the hood of your sex up to reveal it. You cry out, thrashing upwards off the mattress, thrusting your messy core further into her mouth, begging for more stimulation. You want so much more, and you can’t help but sing for it.

“Oh! Oh, please ca-captain,” but it proves hard to speak, let alone  _ moan _ . “Captain --! skekSa, pl-please! Ta-A-ake me!” 

You don’t realize until then, but The Mariner has been hunched over while eating you out, and you have been laying your leg over her shoulder for a while now. Your head is empty of anything but the blazing lust overtaking you, but as you now turn your head to the side so you see her eyes on your face, you now see what has been happening. Her freed hand is between her own thighs, no doubt riling herself up alongside your wanton moans that beckon her to fuck you senseless. She rises to her knees, with a long strand of saliva mixed with your wetness following her tongue. That is when you see the noticeable tent in her breeches and you feel your needy cunt  _ throb _ , alighting your body with a hot strike of desire. With little thought, your legs slowly begin to spread on their own.

Eyes leaving your’s for a split second, just to see what all the rustling is about, skekSa grins once again. Her hands hurry to the fastings of her breeches, belt and jewelry ringing with every move. Finally she parts them, revealing two heavy and leaking erections ready to slide into your wet hole. One of her large palms takes both, drawing long strokes over them, while her other wraps around your thigh, pulling you towards her.

“Needy little creature, aren’t you?”

“You’ve been gone a whole month, I’ve been ready for weeks.” 

Long nights alone in the little cabin, lonely hours trying to appease your appetite for your lover’s body. You go limp on the spot, presenting yourself for her taking. She does just that, leaning on the arm that brought you closer, looking down upon you as she directs one erection to your core. 

“Don’t play games,” You murmur for a last time.

And she doesn’t, only taking her sweet time sliding one in, pulling out, and then adding in the other. A tight fit, but one that burns wonderful pleasure up your desire. Both of you hiss: you in stinging pain, skekSa at the tight shape squeezing her sensitive erections. You both rock in unison, each thrust upwards hitting your like a hard jab that sends flashes of white behind your eyes despite them being wide open. Her deep grunts penetrate you just as heavenly as her cocks do, lovelier than the waves crashing all around the ship. There are five clawed-fingers bringing the sting of pain at your hip, but it’s white-noise drowned out by your long awaited fucking. 

The boat was already rocking, but now it is lurching and the bed creaks with it under skekSa’s strength.

You hang on tight, because its going to be a long night ahead of you, but you wouldn’t have it any other way. Sighing when she leans down, you press your face into the beautiful feathers around her neck, letting your eyes fall shut as you float in the loving sea that is captain skekSa.


	5. The Artist: urZah

urZah is one of the most reclusive Mystics in the valley. He sits there creating spirals in the sand, giving little heed to what goes on around him. Focused eyes follow every curve, every curl of his prophetic work, never to look up unless something is urgent or The Master beckons him. So the question is: why do you feel the urge to always be by him when he does not give a care in the world for you, or much else else for that matter. Yet there you are, sitting somewhere by his side as he faithfully creates images on the floor. 

Admittedly it is mesmerizing to watch him go about it, never faltering, always confident with his outstretched arm. He scoops up sand, then tilts the little bowl in just the perfect way, not only in his eyes, but everyone elses. Smashed agate and amethyst dust color the prophecies and thoughts in his mind. They are beautiful, paintings you believe could be sold for millions on Earth if you could take one home.. _ .if _ you ever returned there anyways. urZah would not like that though, he would scowl at you if any of that were possible, and so you find yourself pushing those ideas away. You flush, ashamed to have thought so greedily over that which was not yours -- that would go against the Mystics’ way.

So you continue to enjoy the painting process. Some hours you sit crossed legged, some hours you lay on your side, and sometimes you do not even watch him, but there is a book in your hands to read. In any case he does not seem to notice….for the first few months. Then there are glances, only in rare moments where you find your mind elsewhere. It is a miracle you catch his deep eyes on you, and when you do he lazily looks away -- it’s only a glance. In those moments you make sure to smile so he can see you enjoy being there. 

But then they become gazes, as though he can not comprehend why you are there by his side -- on Thra. You doubt that though, because he is brilliant and wise, second to urSu who leads them all. When the little corners of your mouth upturn during those gazes, you are the one to turn away, unsure what else to do. You could try talking, but it is obvious to anyone that his mind is too busy elsewhere. Whether or not he was aware, his eyes burn holes through you, making your face turn red at their intensity. Unlike other Mystics, urZah’s eyes are colored an icy blue, and they pierce you in many ways.

Sometimes you have to distract yourself by watching his technique -- even if it is a moment of deep staring-- because you could not stop yourself from finding the otherworldly creature attractive. All the Mystics are with long hair, strong bodies, and deep voices that speak to you with kindness. They act so human when you least expect, and sometimes you believe their ‘mystical’ ways a game for them. A mask to keep them from interfering with what you have learned is a world they never meant to affect so profoundly; that is all you are ever told, never the whole story or what they mean. But urZah is different, every one of them are, but  _ he _ catches your eye. Maybe it is his cool demeanor, having taken so long to even speak to you in the first week of being taken in by the urRu, or perhaps his hypnotically blue eyes that cause his mane and textured flesh to stick out against their hue. Definitely his pleasing voice, deep and resounding like a heavy bell being rung, perfect for beginning all the Mystic’s long chants. Oh, but his markings too -- how could you forget those, which are ingrained twice as deep as any other. Below his cuffs and neckline of clothing are the beginnings and ends of many more, teasing you with the notion that -- unlike everyone else -- there are more underneath, over his hidden skin.

One day you’ll have to leave his side, make your company scarce less you make a fool of yourself from the rush of hot blood that sparks under your flesh. 

That day will never come though, because soon, just in time, he gives you reason that you may be more liked than thought. This happens when you decide to copy his work with a quill in hand and an empty journal in another. You have no experience with this sort of tool, wishing you had put a pencil in your bag before being thrusted onto Thra, but you try it nonetheless. It isn’t difficult, only annoying as the ink dries out too soon and you are unable to work out when that happens with no sense of timing to dip it back in. On your knees you lean over in the same way urZah does to better see the little details. When his hand turns, yours does as well, when he creates a spiral, you are on your way to completing your last one. Childishly you jerk glances at the sand painting, then down to your drawing, unable to keep the image in your head. Soon enough you are turning pages, scribbling out what you believe are failed attempts, and finally begin to huff in weariness. Art is not easy, but maybe you already knew that. 

On that day he reaches his free hand that is nearest to you, and curls his long, thick fingers around your quill and hand. When he speaks, it is meant for you, but his eyes are directed at his own work. “Do not fret, you are just beginning.”

It is enough encouragement to warm your heart, yet the kindness also sends a hot flourish down your spine. When he removes his hand, your own goes back to work. With a heavy sigh to release your frustrations, you continue copying him until the Three Sisters are slowly rising and it is late even for him. You do not realize this until his voice echoes through your mind, a breadth away from your ear where his head lowers itself.

“You have done well, your truths are becoming clear.”

Or whatever the hell that means. All that matters is that when you turn your head in hopes that his expression helps explain his words, you're terribly close to him. You could feel his shallow breaths, feel the warmth of his body as you stare at one another. With wide eyes you nodded.

You’ll continue to stay beside him, if only to learn what all his paintings say. 

Together, side by side, your odd, impromptu art classes continue. Day after day, night after night, and words begin to freely flow between the two of you. The other Mystics always talked of urZah’s free speech --him and urSol would talk endlessly and carelessly like best friends would on Earth-- but You had no first hand experience with this chatty side of him until now, and you never wanted it to stop. Those silent days were long gone, and though there was silence as per his work and meditations demanded, you were not afraid it was because he disliked you. No, on the contrary he very much enjoyed your company, he had expressed it after so long. No, he did not find you annoying for having sat by his side for all that time, instead he loved it, ever since his glances began. 

“I enjoy my kins’ own companionship, but your’s….you have grown on me.”

“I’m an accustomed taste.” You could happily joke, receiving a smile and content nod in return.

He would let you handle his instrument as well, giving you what you could only call “hands-on demos.” His body close to you, lower arm on your hips as his upper held and guided your shorter arm, you both made golden spirals in the sand. Then you would scoop up dark dust of Onyx, dotting circles in the middle of it all. You could lose yourself in the work, but soon enough be pulled out of it as his large torso brushes over your back, engulfing your demur size under his broad body. His reserved nature melted away, openly reaching for you, assisting in your artistic endeavors. During those times when his hands pressed close, you could sneak a peek at his sleeves, pulling away to prove your assumption true -- there were more etching underneath!

So when the night came where you learned he absolutely  _ loved _ your company, you were caught unaware. Under the high rise of three moons, you were startled. He made a sharp turn and swished his heavy tail over his painting. At the beginning of sitting by him, you hated to see his work be cleaned away, and by his own doing no less, but now you understood -- he was finished with it, he had found answers, there was no need to become attached; art was always improving, always changing. Looking up you found his blue gaze bright under the silvery beams of the moons. You could not speak, could not move, until finally he motioned his head to follow. Fumbling to close your journal with the quill squeezed between the pages and grabbing your ink pot, you did just that, right towards his home. A cave like the others, the wooden flooring creaked like the rest of the bridge leading towards it. A curtain of cotton, then beads resounded as he parted them and kept them so until you entered.

Little had you known that your lesson for the rest of that night was going to be so...physical. That the canvas would not be your blank pages, nor the simple floor, but rather  _ you. _

“Tell me otherwise and I will back away.” He had told you at one point before anything began.

You shook your head and grinned wildly to enforce your words: “Right back at you.” 

How quickly he had discarded your shirt, and with the same fervor you had done the same, eager to see them: the spiral etchings on his body. You were not let down, mesmerized at the large tails of spirals on his chest, of the fluid curves which traveled down towards the dip of his pelvis and under his trousers. Before he could get any of four hands on your own hips, you were on your knees and tearing down the last of his clothing away. Yes, they  _ did _ continue over his heavy length, some curling around where it protruded, but not over the dark, earthy color of the head. 

urZah’s rewards for his long, deep meditations, and wandering mind driving towards answers. You decide he deserves more for his work and do so with your mouth. You're crazy to have become so wrapped up in your lust to forget how different he was from you -- how different urRu and human could be. But you get to work, tasting over the saltiness that is familiar to your human tongue. Not only in that, but in many other ways is his length similar to your human senses, like the heady musk that begins to make you dizzy. There is no need to use hands with how hard he is, so you lean forward and lick the tiny tip of your tongue over the slit, careful to not slip between the skinny valley. The coy touch is enough to earn you your own reward of a resounding hum from your partner. The delicious sound drives straight down your veins and between your thighs. Not surprisingly you can feel how slick you have become, squeezing and sliding your lower lips with slippery ease. 

You try taking the head of his erection in your mouth, bending forward in a way that begins to ache with your attempts to slide more of him down your throat. He must have noticed your spine protruding in an uncomfortable way, because he lifts his upper arms above not only your head, but his as well, and places them on the wall behind you. He slowly raises on his legs to a monstrous height and your full mouth follows, eyes lifting up from your hooded gaze. His lower hands cup your face (or more accurately  _ engulfs _ it) and his thumbs stroke over your cheek bones.

His hips thrust forward in a slow fashion, once, twice, three times, before his hands also begin bobbing your head in sync. He bows his head, finding your upward gaze, his eyes widening to your no doubt salacious expression. Your jaw aches from being parted to wide, and your cheeks are flushed hot red from the stretch, but you are a trooper and do your best to ignore it all, even the drool falling from the tight crevices that encircle his throbbing cock. 

Your cunt is pulsating in rhythm to his erection, and it pulls tight in sweet stinging need. Your moan from the back of your throat and do not stop, wanting him to know that you are enjoying it all. Your knees spread, parting your lower lips so your wetness drips and stains your underwear. Where your mouth can not wrap around him, your hand reaches to squeeze it, pumping alongside your bobbing head and his thrusting hips -- rubbing your thumb over the spirals on his cock; your free palm reaches below your hemline, slipping smoothly between your labia and into your heated cunt. 

He watches you, so you give a slight turn of your hips so the view is better. Unabashedly you quickly give curt pumps up your core, slipping in another finger so the two squelch with your sloppy mound. 

Your eyes catch his in another deep gaze you can’t pull away from, but you wouldn’t want to even if you could. Slowly, your fingering eases, becoming long, teasing strokes, but you are unsure when that happens. You are too busy being mesmerized by his icy eyes, and your hooded gaze becomes twice as heavy.

Finally you popped off, gasping loudly for air, slurping the saliva and thick pre that coats your chin. His brow is furrowed.

“Off with the rest of that, no more barriers between us.”

And you wiggle out of your own trousers, then find yourself laying there, open and free for his delight. His large palms had gently pushed you down, roamed over your body that had become terribly hot and sticky with sweat. A forefinger is at your nipple that is a shade darker like your areola against the rest of your body. Both have become hard little pebbles, skin tightening and teat puckering. You can’t help but whimper at the simple touch, twice as sensitive with his rough flesh and are deepened with smaller spirals. All he has to do is rub the tip of your darkened nub and you squirm underneath him. When he pinches them you gasp -- breath already deep pants from choking down his cock -- and when he tugs at them your back arches.

His tongue is no better, long and fat that it feels like forever until it’s length is done licking a dripping wet stripe over your raw teat, but even then the tip of his tongue takes it sweet time swirling around the little nub, playing with it like a small ball. You can't help but curl your fingers in his hair, scratching your nails against his scalp, trying to weakly pull his attention away from your breast -- though not earnestly. 

The hand descending on your soaking cunt assists in torturing you, brushes his blunt, square nails over down the top with feathery touches, causing you hole to clench in anticipation. It's with the bend of his middle finger that he presses against your beating pearl. His long finger meanwhile parts the cleft of your pink lips, slipping between them without any resistance on your part. Your hips jerk up for more contact, receiving a stroke up and down your shape.

It's like that for far longer than you would have liked, being played like an instrument until you're thrashing for more. When he removes the stroking finger, he instead squeezes both of your fat lips together, trapping your tender pearl between them. You raise a hand to cover the choked, pitched moan that comes from your mouth, and your other hand slams down on his shoulder. He’s too busy taking either teat in his mouth and squeeze the unsuckled one between large fingers to stop you from hiding your moans. If anything he decides to pull more from you, finally supinating his palm and turning it upside-down so it is easier for one big finger to pass your slick labia, oozing with your glistening arousal. He plays with it for a moment, as he had been for the past hour or so, teasing the opening of your hole that erratically clenches as though to prepare for him penetrating you.

He pushes through, stretching your lower lips now as he did your upper ones. This time the ache is far better, welcomed as just the size of his finger fills and satisfied you atlast. You look to him and his bowed head, his cold gaze once again meeting yours, but it does anything but chill you. Instead you continue to burn under him, swearing you’ve entered some sort of hell of torturous pleasure for a second. Abandoning shame or embarrassment, you grin and raise a hoarse voice.

“That's….that’s just your finger….that's bigger than anything...I’ve ever put up there.”

Popping off your abused nipple (shining in the candlelight with spit) he lifts his head and presses his lips to your jaw. Then up to your hot, flushed cheeks. And finally to your sweaty temple near your ear. “I can tell, I’m in a vice.” 

Your shoulders shake in laughter, taken aback by his blunt words, but you should have expected no less from urZah who is said to be the most free-speaking of the Mystics….that’s right though: you’re being about to fuck urZah, the Ritual Gaurdian of the Mystics. You are being fingered by urZah, preparing for his heavy, full cock that bounces your knees.

Even as he pumps his finger at a cruel pace, you stare dumbly with your lips in a small “o” at each push and pull. You fail to see his free hand by your waist move, grasping the ink pot you had carried in and forgotten in your haste to undress. 

Before you know it your body is covered in ink. His fingers dip into the pot and pull long drags of dark ink from it. It is not arbitrarily he begins painting your, it is in the shape he, and now you, know best. One giant swirl over your torso, clavicle to the dip of your pelvis. Then smaller ones over your sides and arms. Each one seems to vibrate, sending electricity beneath your skin, body writhing. You realize it is energy from his power that he is sending into you. 

As he fucks you with his finger (ingrained marks rubbing over your inner walls, sending flares of ecstasy through your dripping cunt), he sits up on his knees to watch over his work. Done with your nipples (fat from his fondling and sucking), his last two hands busy themselves with cupping your face, pressing his thumb against and between your lips so you may lick your pink little tongue over the digit, and the other hand reaches out to hold your own, interlocking your thing fingers between his larger ones.

Your cunt echoes, filled and ready to release over his finger and palm. He likes that sound, you know because he begins to hit harder until he presses in to the knuckle and curls his finger. You sob; his hand gives you a little shake and your gushing. 

You’ve had enough, and the tears slipping past the corners of your eyes are telling. “N-no mor-ore!”

“Oh?”

Your hand reaches up to his chest, and down as far as you can. “Fuck me.”

You watch him pull from your messy hole, giving his digit a taste. Sensual is how you would describe him as he licks his finger, putting it in his mouth to sloppily suck on and release with nasty, loud pop.

Unexpectedly you are flipped over, four large hands easing your over. They do nothing more, leaving you to lay there on your stomach. You don’t care, it doesn’t matter how he takes you, all you want is your leaking desire filled by  _ him _ . You want to be stretched, filled, and bouncing with abandonment. You want to moan out like a wanton whore on his heated cock. 

It's amazing how aroused you are when his legs press down on yours, but carefully since he is not only significantly larger, but heavier than you. He spreads you his knees before bending over you -- the memory of him guiding you to paint flashes before your eyes -- and his hair curtains all around you. Two hands plant down akimbo to your head, over your shoulders, which you think will be handy when he finally begins pounding into you. His other two slip under your hips, towards your cunt, and his fingers rub over your needy lips.

“Is this normal -- how wet you are?” He asks by your ear, causing the little hairs of your skin to stand on end.

“N-not...not really.” You gasp. Bowing your head as his hands parts you, raising and presenting your tight, tingling passage to his cock. 

A snug fit, each second of your swollen puss being stretched is agonizing pleasure. Gradually he presses in in his usual slow demeanor you are used to. You can’t seem to care he is taking his sweet time, because being stuffed to the brim is more than rewarding. You heave each breath as though you are about to gag. Bloated, that's how it feels with his hefty size pressing deep and hard inside. You swear you feel it press against your stomach, and it rings true when one of his hands pressed up against that exact area -- right above your pelvis. You Are bursting with urZah’s cock, and where you think it is the end, he surprises you with more slithering past your thighs and bubbling cunt. You dribble over him, squeeze around him, and tense up in your upper body.

“Relax my dear, slow and steady.” He comforts you, using his last free hand to rub over the pulsating bud between your thighs -- hoping it will help relax you.

By that point you both give up on trying to push his whole length inside. You bend an arm back so your hand can caress his face. And finally he is off, pulling out, then back in, and there is little time to be slow. You get what you want, howling in stark raving euphoria as he not only beats his cock into you, but also rocks your body in return without you needing to. All you have to do is lay there as he has his way with you. Your hips slap together twice, both times pulling a breathless cry and backward arch of your spin. The rest of the time there is only the nasty wet sounds of his cock pulling and pushing your abused cunt, your pleas of dizzying ecstasy, and his guttural grunts.

A long night indeed, you don’t try to stop him, only encourage him with cries of “yes, yes, yes!” and “Zah, Zah, Zah!”

Sore does not begin to explain how you feel when you wake up the next afternoon. It takes a moment to finally just look down on yourself, underneath the warm robe draped over you. There on your body are the spirals, somehow un-ruined and still bright even after all that time on your stomach. When you turn your head, there is urZah, looking over your journal of drawings..

“Do you know what made me decide to chance laying with you?” He does not look at you, focused on flipping the pages. “We were good side by side, I did not wish to break that.”

Your voice is soft, rough from your night of crying out. “No, what was it?”

And when he leans over to show you a page of particularly well drawn spirals, you lift up on your lower arm and furrow your brow in confusion until you look up to his face for answers. You find he is smiling fondly and chuckling.

“You reached me through your art and told me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously titled **"Wonderland"**, we had a change so I can make this a kind of series. Whenever I have time I'll be making a companion fic for fluffy stuff dubbed "Another Time".  



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